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Touch the Horizon	By : Kayseph Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 2236 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, or any characters mentioned within this work, with the exception of Thorideon Nightwood, my Blood Elf priest. I make no profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 1-Touch the Horizon
- 1
Thorideon sighed as he slid from the saddle of his Wind Rider, giving it a gentle but dismissive pat on the thick-furred neck. A smile touched his lips at the small answering purr before it took off to roost nearby, close enough to answer when he whistled for it.
It had taken the priest a long time to grow accustomed to the dusty streets of Orgrimmar. After having spent so many years in Silvermoon, it had certainly seemed almost barbaric, with most of the homes and shops built right into the walls of the canyon and adorned with all manner of menacing decoration. But in a way, he welcomed the change. Here, the length of your hair and the fairness of your skin were not what commanded respect. Scars were badges to be worn with honor, not a horrible flaw to be hidden and shamed. Your tongue could be made of Truesilver and it would only garner distrust. The orcs and trolls that dominated the city were not races that were known for their fondness of fancy words, and if you talked them in circles, they would resolve the problem their own way—which usually left you without enough sense to talk at all.
This was the city he called home, now, and in many ways he was proud of it. No one here would judge him for the finery of his robes (except perhaps to say that he shouldn't bother wearing something so pretty) or the status of his last name. They cared only that he made himself useful. His worth was measured by how much of his own weight he could pull, and he relished in it. He gladly worked himself to the bone for the Horde, though he cared not for the war effort itself.
There were some days, however, that he took for himself. One of his favorite pastimes was people-watching, and often he would perch himself up high, where he could observe the citizens of the city go about their duties. No one ever knew he was there, and he was usually too high up to make out individual features of people. They seemed to him almost like ants scurrying around in their colony, tripping over themselves to do their work.
Thorideon smirked slightly, settling back against the red sun-warmed rock. If the citizens were worker ants, that made Garrosh the queen. The thought conjured several mental images, each one more ridiculous than the last, until he cut them off with an amused snort. He didn't need to make it impossible for himself to face Hellscream.
The priest let out another sigh tilting his face toward the clear blue sky. As the Orgrimmar Wind Riders glided overhead, he closed his eyes and simply basked in the warmth of the day, the tinkering of the goblins in their slums below grounding him to the here and now. Distantly, he heard a shout heralding the arrival of the zeppelin for Tirisfal Glades, and when he cracked one eye open, he saw it docking. It would leave again soon, make its trip across the Great Sea. He considered boarding, but decided against it; his business lately had been in Northrend, not the Eastern Kingdoms, and he had only come back to Orgrimmar on a sort of vacation. It was wonderful to feel warm again, and the chill, dank air of the Glades was not what he wanted. He would take the lively shouts of the people of Orgrimmar over the croaking moans of the Forsaken any day.
He shuddered and pushed the thoughts of corpses from his mind; that was only going to lead him down a dangerous path, and this was a vacation. He rolled his shoulders slightly and forced his muscles to relax, leaning fully once more against the warm rock behind him, and closed his eyes.
His mind drifted for a time, floating through hazy thoughts of what he could do with the rest of the day. While the sun was still high, the city below him was in a canyon, and the shadows would already be darkening, the air cooling. There was so much he could do...but for now, he would simply stay here.
Some time later, when the sun was making its descent toward the horizon, and for reasons unknown, Thorideon's thoughts turned to a man he'd met just weeks before his deployment to Northrend. A smile touched his lips even as a delightful shiver slipped down his spine, his body almost immediately beginning to stir. He had his betrothed, Kaladrius, of course, but... Kal encouraged him to pursue his interests in other men, under the condition that he always come home to the bed they shared. (Okay, so he had to give a recount of what happened...but that ended wonderfully for them both, anyway.)
This particular man had caught his interest at a club in Gadgetzan. Thorideon had been returning with Kaladrius from a trip to Un'Goro Crater, and as they'd flown over the Auction House, they'd heard the announcement for the club's opening for the night. A quick glance had been exchanged before they both guided their mounts to land outside the structure, and Thorideon had wasted no time in dismissing his mount before trotting down the stairs. Kal had elected not to follow, turning instead to take care of some business.
There hadn't been many people there just yet, but it filled up quickly. The music had been loud, the lights flashy, and soon the air was hot. Thorideon had settled himself in a corner, choosing to watch rather than partake. The press of bodies had been hypnotic—and perhaps what had been especially mesmerizing had been watching races from both the Horde and Alliance dance together.
In fact, that was what had drawn the priest's attention to Vynix. The elf had been dancing with a human, who had looked a bit like a fish out of water, but seemed to be enjoying the attentions of a Sin'dorei. Time and time again, Thorideon's eyes had come back to the pair—he'd even ventured closer, disguising himself in the mass of bodies in order to observe the two.
The more Thorideon had watched, the more he'd felt drawn to the other elf. He couldn't put his finger on the reason why even then, just that there was...something about him that was alluring.
However, the priest had always been shy, and instead of cutting in and trying to get the elf's attention, he had simply left. He'd run into Kaladrius on his way out, and when asked why he looked so flustered, had openly and honestly explained his attraction to the stranger. Kal had seemed amused, asked to see him, and Thorideon had reluctantly led the Death Knight back into the club to point him out. Putting a face to his attraction had made him more embarrassed about it, and he'd made a quick escape.
But, oddly enough, he'd run into Vynix again later that night; the man had gotten caught up with a group of female blood elves who were clearly drunk, shouting nonsense to the heavens. Thorideon had stopped to observe, amused and annoyed at the same time, and somehow that had ended with Vynix talking to him.
After that, Thorideon's memories grew fuzzy in that weird way they seem to do when you recall something very embarrassing. He remembered a lot of blushing (on his part, of course) and a clear interest sparking in Vynix's eyes. There had been so much sexual tension you could practically taste it, and it had been disappointing when the two had parted ways with only an exchange of mailing addresses.
Disappointing...but somehow, it made the whole thing all the more exciting. Thorideon shivered at the memory of his anticipation, how sexually charged he'd felt in the following days, and his mind skipped ahead to their next meeting. That had been much more private, more comfortable, and Thorideon had managed to come out of his shell enough to entice a kiss from Vynix. They'd parted immediately afterward, only to meet again a few days later when Vynix had written to ask the priest for a favor.
Thorideon had complied, of course, and worked his skill with the Light to heal a terrible wound on a young hunter's face. It had been exhausting, but he'd do it again in a heartbeat. Not just because he loved to help, though that was part of it.
No, Thorideon realized with a blush, his deciding factor would be the way Vynix would probably repay him. Again.
The priest shivered again, biting his bottom lip. His body was really stirring now, his pants suddenly too tight, but he was helpless to stop it as the memories flashed across the surface of his mind. They were too brief to hold on to, though he would have loved to lose himself in them, and instead, they only left him feeling flustered and frustrated. He shifted where he sat, biting back a whimper when his pants rubbed over his hard (and woefully trapped) length.
There seemed to be no end to the perverse thoughts, however, and as he grew more and more frustrated, he cared less and less about anything but finding completion. He knew it wouldn't take him long, not with the vividness of the memories—or were they simply fantasies now? It didn't matter much.
In his mind's eye, Vynix was naked and pressed against him, his hands roaming Thorideon's equally bare body, his breath hot on his ear, his dick hard against his ass. Fingers traced the scars on his back, delicate, almost loving, and the priest shivered in the warm afternoon, suddenly aching to feel that touch again. He felt hollow without it, and as his shaft throbbed, he knew he would not be able to ignore this need. He may not be able to feel Vynix's hands on him, but...
Thorideon sighed and glanced around—a formality and nothing more; there was no one around up here. He could barely see figures milling about down in the Valley of Spirits, distant enough that there would be no way any of them would see him up here, or be able to tell what he was doing if they did happen to spot him.
Another two seconds of warring with himself and he decided to throw caution into the wind. He reached for the fastenings on his pants (thanking the Light he had left his robes back in his apartment)--and froze as shadows passed overhead. His heart leapt into his throat as his head snapped up, fingers flying away from his crotch. He identified the source immediately, slowly relaxing as a shaky sigh left him.
The Orgrimmar Wind Riders. Of course. The force made their rounds all over the city in troops of three. He looked out toward the gate that divided the Goblin Slums and the Valley of Strength and noticed another three soaring lazily through the air. In fact, now that he was looking, he noticed quite a lot of them, patrolling the skies over each of the different districts, even passing by the zeppelin towers.
He bit down on his bottom lip, shifting again where he sat. His erection throbbed insistently, uncaring of the dangers of being caught. If anything, he could have sworn he'd gotten more hard.
Still, he abstained, waiting, counting the seconds and minutes. It was exactly five minutes later when they passed overhead again. He was watching for them, and was very aware of the fact that they had not seen him. They hadn't even glanced in his direction.
That's a security issue, the cynical part of him complained, frowning.
I don't give a shit, it makes this easier for me, snapped the horny, impatient part of him, seizing control of his hand and directing it to his pants again.
He regained enough sense to hesitate, unsure, heart racing...but when his dick throbbed again, insistent, he damned the consequences and freed himself. A small sigh of relief left him and he pushed himself back against the rock, hoping to hide in lengthening shadows.
Light, if Vynix knew what I was doing...
...he'd be more than happy to take it further and fuck you until you screamed so loud the entire city heard you.
The priest groaned softly, wrapping his right hand around his aching shaft. This wouldn't take him long at all, and his mind was determined to make it as perverse as possible. Images flooded in, quick, hot, edged with the desperation he remembered from the ruined courtyard above Undercity.
Vynix here, shoving him against the rock, bruising his lips in a kiss, tearing at his clothes. Teeth sinking into his neck, trying already to wrench a cry from him. Those deliciously skilled fingers dancing over his skin, thumbs rubbing over sensitive nipples. Fingers forcing their way into his mouth, thrusting only a few times and Thorideon eagerly responding, sucking and licking with abandon. Those spit-slicked digits withdrawing and immediately moving to probe his ass, two of them forcing inside. A low groan answering Thorideon's hiss of pain-laced pleasure, a growled swear in his ear.
Light, no, this is going to be over very quickly.
His hand was already moving, his jerks long but tight, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh. He ached to be filled, but knew he didn't have the time for it. He was already risking so much just doing this here, where he could be caught at any moment by a guard—or, Fel, a random person—flying past.
His fantasies kept coming, flashes of imagery, a ghost of a memory whispering over his nerves. His chest was tight, breath coming in short bursts as adrenaline kept pumping through his veins. He felt almost dizzy with the rush of it all.
Fel, he loved it.
Another groan left him, his head tilting back, gaze staring blankly at the sky that was beginning to streak with color as the sun touched the horizon. His hand pumped faster now, precum drooling from the tip. He hissed in a breath as he ran his thumb over the head, collecting and spreading the moisture. His eyes fluttered shut, consciousness slipping into that hazy in-between of a daydream.
“Come on, my dove,” a voice whispered in his mind, drawing a reluctant whimper from the priest. “Time is running out,” taunted the fantasy Vynix. He could see the smirk, feel his breath on his neck, arched into the hand that was suddenly not his own. “Can you beat the clock?”
Thorideon whimpered, lost in himself, unaware of the guards that passed overhead, ignorant to the writhing priest. “Please,” he mewled softly, free hand slipping into the loose neck of his shirt to tease his own nipple. He shuddered, face flushing in a beautiful mix of pleasure and embarrassment even as he arched into the touch. He bit his lip to stifle a moan as his mind replaced his fingers with a hot mouth, another shudder wracking his body as the skilled tongue he remembered so well laved over the sensitive nub. The hand jerking him gripped tighter, rougher, walking that fine edge between pleasure and pain.
“Oh, Light,” he breathed, bucking into it. He was getting close already, speeding to that edge, and it was making his head spin. The lines between reality and fantasy blurred until he was not in control of his own pleasure, helpless to the bard's whims. “Vynix...!”
“That's it, Thor,” his fantasy breathed, voice rough with lust. “Come for me.”
It didn't take much more than that. Every muscle coiled so tight that his entire body shook with the tension, and a light sheen of sweat broke out over his skin. He gasped out an incoherent plea but it didn't matter because the Vynix in his head knew what he wanted and impossibly managed to grip tighter, pumping faster. There was a growled order and he scrambled to obey, willing himself to tip forward and fall over the edge. Still he teetered for a moment, but then the hand on his cock added a twist at the end of a stroke and the extra friction on the hypersensitive head shoved him into the blinding abyss of his climax with enough force to steal his breath.
Thorideon fell into the pleasure, mindlessly jerking his hips into his own hand. His blood roared in his ears and he needed breath so badly he thought his lungs might burst, but the tide wasn't receding and he felt himself spurt all over his own hand and oh Light he felt so fucking good.
When he was finally able to draw air into his lungs, it came in as a rattling, gasping moan, and his eyes flew open to stare unseeingly at the sky above. As he struggled to collect the shattered pieces of his senses, he noted the real world returning slowly. The stars winking into view overhead, the clinking and clanging of the goblins tinkering below, the acrid smell of their oil pit. He distantly heard the Kor'kron Guards shouting orders he couldn't even begin to make out, a shout for the zeppelin to Grom'gol, the whoosh of wings--
Oh, Fel--
Thorideon scrambled to make himself look at least half-way appropriate, shoving himself back into his pants and curling into a ball to hide his indecency as he cast a mortified glance to the sky. He need not have worried; they still seemed completely oblivious to his presence, gliding by and chatting idly. Still, he was unable to relax until they had moved out of sight, his breath exiting on a shaky exhale as he pulled himself to his feet. His legs still felt a little weak, but they always did after he came, (because he always seemed to do so hard enough to see stars) and he knew they'd hold, so he did up the fastenings of his pants.
It was then that he noticed the mess on his hand, frowning at it for a moment before wiping it on his shirt—which was white, anyway, so it's not like anyone would notice. He took another moment to (try to) brush some of the red dust from his clothes before whistling for his Wind Rider. It appeared a moment later and he mounted, glad to leave the edge of the canyon. He rose quickly to bypass the tall gates as soared into the Valley of Strength, toward Grommash Hold.
He had a security complaint to make.
- 1
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Touch the Horizon